Paperback thrillers.

Looking back over the span that my entries have covered, and the words therein, I can't help but feel that my last entry was... a weak description of life here. Let me give this another go.

The days are laid back here in Koh Chang. This is island life after all. Each day is hot and humid. The heat of the afternoon is oppressive and it seems that everyone, including the dogs, look to escape its dousing of rays that burn and moisture that seeps through the air.

My first day here I walked the Bang Bao docks and passed shops on stilts selling knockoff Armani, Dior, and Gucci sunglasses (does this make me obsessive compulsive: that I feel the need to backspace my previous arrangement and place those imitation brand names in alphabetical order?), Billabong boardshorts, spaghetti and meatball dinners, tropical fruit, and diving lessons; but the owners of these one room stores did not aggressively push their merchandise in your face. Instead they sat in the shade and fanned their face. Some even laid in hammocks taking one o'clock, two o'clock, and three o'clock naps.

After three nights, I find myself slowly slipping into a similar mindset, and thinking back over the past few days I can't remember doing much of anything at all. They have passed uneventfully, but uneventful on an island, is perhaps exactly what you can expect to find.

My bungalow has a double bed with a mosquito net draped across the ceiling (in case I find the need), a three speed fan mounted on the wall that oscillates through the night, and a shower with hot water -- though a cool shower after the hot air soaks your skin is much nicer.

After a swim, or maybe just a cool shower, a favorite of mine is the forest green hammock which hangs in the shade merely 10 steps from my front door. With a paperback thriller (The Bourne Identity) in my hand I lie there and continue to do nothing at all.

I rarely will read books like this; and not to make a cocky statement, but even in reading -- what you put in is what you get out. Being on Koh Chang though, I don't really have much choice.

Even so, I find that in pouring through these pages, I am pleasantly brought back to Channahon public library trips at thirteen and fourteen years old to find a Michael Crichton or Star Wars novel (yes, this officially classifies me as a nerd), and also memories of discussions that followed these reads with good friends (now I am officially a super nerd).

Somehow, from my hammock by the sea, I don't mind.

Lizards and monkeys.

There are lizards in my bungalow and monkeys in the trees.

I still can't get over the fact that I'm actually here; in Thailand; on an island. Yes, I'm on an island. And yes, its hot everyday. And yes, there are elephant treks in the jungle.

(Yes, there is jungle).

Today is my second day in Koh Chang; an island about 5 hours east of Bangkok. In my search for an escape from some of the noise and odor of the city, I found this small little paradise. It is somewhat developed, and not quite as cheap as I had hoped, but in Thailand, even what we begin to see as expensive is actually cheap.

I will probably stay here one more night, especially after getting quite sun burnt from a fishing and snorkeling trip all day yesterday. I don't want to move too much.

Sweeping smiles.

As I sat on the curb, waiting for an opportunity to capture the controlled, menacing speed of a tuk-tuk, I began to scoot closer to a small girl. She appeared to be no older than four, and she swept the sidewalk with a straw broom. It could have been her father that she imitated, or maybe a close family friend, but in tiny misplaced strokes she handled the broom that was twice her size while her sweeping companion shoved the dust off the walk with force and experience.

Over the next few minutes I shifted my weight on the concrete, and carefully observed as I felt an opportunity would soon arise. She now stood by her lonesome against the wall and softly grabbed at the broom that had minutes ago been set down.

*Click* said my shutter.

At first she stared with a questioning and apprehensive glance, but soon brought the straw broom closer and stood at my side -- an arms length away.

*Click* said my shutter.

She looked at me again. With dark eyes she wondered if I was safe and as her chin nearly touched her chest, she studied my eyes with her own and my heart formed a smile. Even now, a smile is lifted to my mouth as I think of her beauty and childlike wonder.

I gestured at her and offered up the screen of my camera, and as she inched over I waited in peace, watching her every move. She looked at the photograph I had just taken, and then looking from her picture to my smiling face, she broke out in a whole-hearted giggle. With tiny white teeth and a front-toothless grin that would melt the smile of any old grump she bellowed with laughter and threw her head back in joy.

Thrilled with her amusement, I looked through the lense again. Now, to give her a laugh more rather find art for myself, I snapped a few more shots in rapid succession. She posed.

*Click*

*Click*

*Click*

She sauntered back to me, and leaning softly over my shoulder her heart laughed again. Be it known, there is nothing as joyful as the laughter of a child.

As again she moved back to position, again my finger pressed the shutter. Then, quick out of hiding, sprung three more. Two girls and a boy with his hair buzzed short now huddled around me and begged for a look. Four sacred heads, and four little hearts, crowded around, chatting amongst themselves. In a matter of seconds they learned this new game and they pressed together waiting for me -- three in one shot. Siblings or friends, I wasn't sure, but a close-knit group they were.

If you are wondering about the fourth, she seemed to be the oldest of the group and stood quietly off to the side. As I offered to take her picture, she graciously declined; smiling as she did so.

I wished in this moment, and I still wish it now, that I spoke the Thai language, because oh did they talk! The three youngest broke into a symphony of words and I smiled and laughed as I listened to them express their photographic triumph, and their dreams. I can only wonder what it all means, but I know that their smiles and mine broke the plane -- the differences between us were bridged for an instant and that is a triumph for me.

The midday sun strikes at ten.

After 3 nights, I am still in Bangkok, and opposite to the usual flashpacker plans, I think I will be here for a few more.

Between learning the basics of the Thai language with my new friend Kit, and finding quiet tables to read another chapter of Midnight's Children by Salmon Rushdie, I am slightly caught up in this city of contrasts.

Daily walks on thoroughfares that slowly etch themselves onto the map within my head increase my curiosity and disgust. Bangkok is a frenetic mecca of chillies and petrol fumes. Sweetened chicken and rotting fruit. It is both alluring and appalling. But somehow I tell myself, one more day. One more day of language. One more day of walking with no purpose other than to browse the streets and feel the heat of a midday sun that strikes at ten.

Yummy.

For dinner tonight, I went on a search for a meal. I didn't have to search long. I ended up at a street vendor less than a mile from my hostel. This is what I ate.

Two helpings = 40 Baht (just over $1.00 U.S.)

Wow.

A nap on a bench.

Last night I wandered around Kuala Lumpur International Airport with bloodshot eyes. As soon as I arrived, taxi drivers approached me from all directions, trying to sell me a ride, and neon storefronts beckoned me to buy their wares. I refused both in my random wandering and instead settled for an airport bench.

Since my connecting flight to Bangkok was not scheduled to leave until 9:10 the next morning, I had thought about taking a train into downtown Kuala Lumpur. My flight had taxied into KLIA at about 9:30 Malaysian time. I figured it would be something fun to do instead of spending 12 hours in the airport, but my sleepy state persuaded me otherwise.

Before bed I walked back and forth across the airport that slowly grew quiet. I searched for a drinking fountain but through broken English discovered that here, there was no such thing. I soon settled for a bottle of water, and after gulping most of it down I sprawled out lengthwise on a slightly cushioned bench near the back. I wrapped the strap of my bag around my wrist and turned onto my side to fall asleep.

In that moment, it hadn't hit me that outside the four walls of Kuala Lumpur International was a country as exotic as Malaysia. I felt a humid blast of air rush in through the revolving glass doors that led outside and eventually to the city, but I did not feel the hit. I saw headcoverings and robes of purple, orange, and white that covered softly darkened skin tones, but it did not hit me then. For the first time, the only language that filled the air and rose to my ears was not recognized as my own, but somehow, I am not yet shocked.

I know its coming though. I know that elation will at some point turn to anxiety and for a period of time I will be shocked and questioned; overwhelmed and defused.

In this moment, looking back over the past two weeks, I have loved this adventure and I know that I always will. I love defining life as it comes at me. This life of excitement and challenge is a dear part of my existence. But at some point, in some instance, I believe I will be shocked by unfamiliar sights, sounds, and words. Until then, I can only wonder when.

Now, in the moment of writing this, I am sitting in Bangkok, Thailand. I decided to take a break from the slow and complex navigation to my hostel, as well as a break from the heat and humidity. It is about 1:20 p.m. here, on the 17th of January. I have been slowly navigating through this notoriously busy city and I have constantly stopped to look at my map, but I think I am almost there. I will be staying somewhere in the Banglamphu area, which is west of the city and nearby the river.

Almost there.

Have a cup of tea.

My last few nights spent in New Zealand have been absolutely wonderful. I have been blessed with the hospitality of the Lagis, a Fijian family living in Mt. Wellington who have given me a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and their fellowship.

Here is an example of the rest that I have experienced here.

The night before last, Atu (who I had met on the plane from Fiji) and I went for an 8:00 p.m. swim in Mission Bay. The water was surprisingly warm and as we waited for Sam (another friend) to join us, we relaxed in the gentle waves and talked about life and the sea. By 9:30 we were sitting down for dinner with Auntie Frances, (Atu's wonderful wife), and Esther, their beautiful daughter. Our meal was wonderful. Together, we talked and laughed while enjoying steamed trevalli cooked in coconut milk and spinach leaves, which was served over white rice with a sprinkling of fresh lemon over the top. With taro (a root) and a juice that some laughed at but was really quite good, we ate our fill and finished with a cup of tea and some songs. As I have learned, you cannot have breakfast, lunch, or dinner with a large cup of tea and some biscuits on the side.

"Take me to Fiji!" I proclaimed as I finished our tasty dinner. "I do not know if I will be able to eat American food again."

Thank you Atu, Auntie Frances, and Esther. Thank you Sam. Thank you Tuk, Selena, Kano, and Ellie. And of course I thank the rest of the Streams' Community for your support and prayers. I would not have wanted to start this journey in any other way. Know that you are so loved. I will never forget my time in New Zealand or your hospitality.

I will make it to Fiji yet!

Stepping off the bus (1).

This week was shaping up to be rather uneventful. Keyword: was.

Up until tonight, a great part of my time thus far had been spent in Paihia, New Zealand. While there, I did little other than read on the beach, shoot some pool, and spend time with new friends from all corners of the globe. It was last night that I made the decision to move on, and so this morning at 8:00 a.m. I checked out of my hostel, and boarded a bus bound for Auckland.

The bus mood seemed rather somber as a number of twenty-somethings on holiday lethargically awaited the scheduled Auckland stop. Many hunkered down in their seats with hope of a nap and the possibility of hurrying time along on the stops in between. Slowly, the allure of sleep had also crept into my mind and I drifted off without much thought, not waking until a scheduled stop was made in a small town of about 500 people, called Rawene. The scenery of what seemed to be a cozy New Zealand fishing village now surrounded our bus.

Making the scheduled stop, our driver let us know that we had just under an hour before we would continue on the road to Auckland. As he made this statement, I suddenly felt a great frustrated breath of air travel throughout our bus. I looked around trying not to pass judgment, and was greatly challenged in doing so, for the town of Rawene, while small, was obviously full of character. A few tiny shops dotted the land on which we now stood, and with the overcast skies of Hokianga Harbour providing a backdrop, a few fisherman went to work while others waited for a ferry. Strolling away from the oversized white tour bus, I walked over to a peaceful and yet brawny looking man with tattooes from head-to-toe, who sat outside on the curb with a cigarette in his mouth and a dog at his feet. His name was Dallon, and he owned the artist shop whose front stoop he now sat upon. Small talk was effortlessly played through and as we transitioned into the subjects of travel and diversity, I knew that one hour was not nearly enough time for my curiousity.

With five minutes left before our scheduled departure from Rawene, I walked straight up to our driver and asked him if another bus would be stopping through in the next few days. I told him that I wanted to stay and with raised eyebrows he said, "of course...."

As we unloaded my bags the other bus passengers slowly shuffled back to their seats through the now open door and many of them gave me a look that said, "uh... what in the world are you thinking?", but already I was too excited to give much of any thought to their condescending glances. I felt that I needed to get off the bus, and knew that this luxury of defining my life on a daily basis was just what I had traveled for. And as that white caravan pulled away and the faces of its passengers stared at me through the windows from their high perch, I smiled back at them with my pack against the curb and knew that this was where I needed to be.

Immediately, my sporadic decision turned into a wonderful adventure. Unable to withdraw any cash in town, I called a hostel across the bay and made reservations for the night. With the ferry consistently shuttling back and forth, in less than an hour I was aboard and on my way to the backpacker lodge across in Hokuhoku. Once I arrived, I was greeted with a lovely, small organic farm, hidden in the midst of a sub-tropical rainforest. The owners, with great respect for the land, had built this particular hostel with colors that naturally blended into the rest of the scenery, giving the building a camoflauged and treehouse-like appearance that really was charming to say the least. After orienting myself with the grounds, I took a tour of the building, booked two nights, and then dropped off the majority of my belongings except for a shoulder bag that I had earlier fashioned from a compression sack. This small satchel carried my camera, a rain jacket, and my journal, and would ride with me on the ferry back to Rawene.

An area of extreme historical significance for the Maori people, Rawene is one of the oldest settlements in New Zealand. The surrounding area, known as Hokianga, is according to tradition, the landing place of Kupe -- the great Polynesian explorer. This is the heartland of the Maori people. According to my research, one of the meanings of Hokianga, still used by the Maori, is Te Kohanga o Te Tai Tokerau, which translates to, "The nest of the northern people."

As I am continually learning, while traveling alone, one must always be open to potential held in the hands of the unknown. Another rabbit trail that weaved its way through open-ended opportunities would once again cross my path, and once again I took a leap into the unknown. Over the next ten minutes on the ferry, I talked with Kura, a Maori woman who also happened to be the gold medalist waka champion of New Zealand. She was on her way to Opononi and with a beautiful smile she invited me to join her and her daughter as they went to visit family.

Now, in this moment, I am writing these words from the house that belongs to this admirable family and in this moment, I am overwhelmed. Today, I have met Pat and Graham, a couple who have a mind for change and a heart for their people and culture. Pat and I shared in conversation about standardized education, the beauty of the land, and the idea of change that begins with one; and together with Graham I learned much about business and leadership over dinner in their home. I have also had a chance to spend time with Kura's lovely twin grandchildren Madison and Tammin, and as the four of us took a walk through town while a delicate rain fell from the sky, a smile was on my face.

What an honor it is to be in this place. What an honor it is to have stumbled upon Hokianga.

(I will write again soon, with ideas from my conversation with Pat, Kura, and Graham. There is much more to tell.)

A kiss on the cheek.

Love is a splendid thing.

At first sight of this phrase I would think that many people immediately think of a pitter patter feeling of the heart, and while romance is important in the proper time, it is certainly not the end of love as a whole. Without the supporting pieces of care, patience, and selflessness, among many other attributes -- romantic love is by itself warped.

Love has lost its perfection, and though today's tainted understanding of love is surely a global travesty, I myself can only speak on what I have witnessed in my own culture; for whatever that is worth.

In America, I see love as an advertisement. So many are sold on the idea that if you have this car, women will flock to you; or if you wear this perfume, men will notice you. To many, this recognition is of the greatest importance and is even reason enough to take a relationship to a further level. Yet it is all about image -- a surface-level, lust like relationship. The desire to want and to be wanted seem to vie for the sole criteria in a search for love.

May it be clear that in no way do I condemn the possession of nice things, for I myself enjoy fashion and style, but I am merely saying that the truth of love is not found in tawdry displays of extravagance. I doubt that love can ever stem from the surface. Its roots are in the heart but also in the conscious and truthful effort of the mind.

While traveling, and now in the time of writing this, I still see a distortion of love, yet in the past few days I have been blessed with pictures of a love that cares just for the sake of caring. A love that does not expect anything in return. I have seen this in Pastor Atu, a Fijian living in Auckland who without hesitation told me to call him and stay with his family when I return from Paihia. I have experienced this love from a group of travelers from Canada, Brazil, and England who invited me to spend the evening with them. And of course, I have experienced this love in my meetings with a girl from Argentina named Macarena, who sat with me on the beach for hours and taught me the custom of greeting and parting with a kiss on the cheek. Joy filled my body when I experienced this open way of showing care, and obviously so, the title of this blog is dedicated to the beauty of this custom. Thank you Macarena.

It is in an experience like this, that I see how love in simple ways is felt across cultures. A love that simply cares with nothing expected in return. What a beautiful thing.

The art of doing nothing.

Today is my third day in New Zealand and slowly I am becoming accustomed to a traveler's way of life. The first couple days in Auckland were actually quite expensive, (unfortunately the American dollar is quite weak). Now though, I am in Paihia, which is also known as the Bay of Islands, and while still expensive, I am learning the ropes here and am getting along quite nicely.

I absolutely love the freedom that this opportunity has allowed me so far. I wake up each morning and face so many opportunities, but each choice carries with it a simplicity that I could have never before imagined. I do not have an agenda, rather I wake up each morning and either read a little or grab some snacks for breakfast, after which I walk to the beach with a book in my hand and do nothing for the rest of day except relax.

Thinking more about this idea though, brings me to the thought that I believe we Americans are not very good at doing nothing. My first day in Auckland struck a small bit of fear into my heart, yet in retrospect I feel that more than anything, this was due to the fact that I had no schedule, nor did I have anything specific to do. I had only planned as far as a destination. I had only planned to enjoy a different culture, to meet people and talk with them about everything and nothing at all.

It took me a minute, but I know that this simplicity is truly who I am at heart. Each and every day, I love this idea more and more.

In this journey thus far, I have met wonderful people, coming from all different parts of the earth. I have met Brazilians, English, Germans, Fijians, Samoans, and Tongans. And I have got along quite well with all of them. It has been wonderful.

There is an entire traveler's network at my feet; a network that up until three days ago, I never knew existed.